


Lost Legacy

by Danes (orphan_account)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Heavy Angst, Insanity, Loss of Identity, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, References to Canon, Screenplay/Script Format, Tags May Change, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 19:12:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1869192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Danes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You find a box of cassette tapes salvaged from beneath the floorboards, covered in dust. You can just barely read the words on the label: BJP NV REC #1</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> I think we could all use a little something right now. A big mess started a few days ago thanks to an opinion a certain unsavory someone didn't like, and we're all still recovering from that. My blogs don't change urls pretty much at all anymore, btw.
> 
> This started out as a fic about my first popular Night Vale blog, thegateofnightvale/Yog-Sothoth, who was Cecil's father, and themotherofnightvale, my rp partner's blog/Cecil's mother Methany. Changed name because reasons yknow.
> 
> The description used for Leonard was made by [raideo.](http://raideo.tumblr.com/post/86081973855/in-which-i-was-really-excited-about-drawing-this)
> 
> This may or may not be updated, as it's been roughly a year in fic hell. I wanted to make it short but angsty, but I haven't been able to write properly in a long time.

** [The recording screeches to life. Music plays softly in the background and a woman clears her throat.] **

My name is Bethany Josephine Palmer and I'm a freelance reporter for supernatural magazines and tabloids. It's not the best job in the world, but it pays well and I get to travel, so I don't mind.

I'm using this tape recorder to document my thoughts and observations, seeing as all writing utensils have been banned. I asked one of the locals about the law, and they told me that a few weeks ago all the pens and pencils turned into giant, man-eating squids. That was weird in itself, but what's weirder is I think they actually believed it happened.

**[She pauses to take an audible sip of liquid.]**

Oh, right! Almost forgot to say where I am; that wouldn't be very professional of me, huh? But I think that requires an explanation, first.

A few months ago, people started sending in letters to my employers talking about their radios picking up broadcasts from a place called "Night Vale". Each person reported hearing a different broadcast, some of them claiming to have heard broadcasts from the future. But one thing always remained the same: the narrator is someone named Leonard Burton.

We tried looking this guy up in the phone books, along with the city he claimed to be from, but there was nothing. No Night Vale, no Leonard Burton.

At least, that's what we thought.

**[She pauses and then giggles.]**

God, I sound like I'm in a B-movie horror film.

Anyways, just when we were about to give up, we got this pamphlet in the mail from Night Vale itself. It didn't come with a return address or anything; I guess whoever sent it didn't want to found. Creepy.

When the office manager, Barbara, opened the flyer, she started screaming bloody murder until Matthew knocked her out with a judo chop or something, flyer still in her hands. Nobody wanted to even touch the thing, but something had to be done about it-- we couldn't let some other unsuspecting soul fall victim to... whatever it did to Barbara.

In order to pick who dealt with it, we decided to pick straws-- obviously, I got the short one. The last thing I remember is picking the pamphlet up, then waking up in the hospital.

Matthew says that I just up and fainted when I had it in my hands. No warning, no nothing. I hit my head on the fall and they called an ambulance to make sure I didn't have a concussion or something.

I got released later that day, but I couldn't stop thinking about that pamphlet... it told me where to find Night Vale.

So here I am. Night Vale--

**[The rest of the location is cut off by the sound of a mouse squeaking.]**

I've only been here for a day and I still don't know what to think. The people here have the most wild imaginations I've ever seen. I could write a novel on this place. Hold on, gotta flip the tape.

**[The tape recorder stops, the first part of the recording finished. You take a moment to flip it over and press play. It screeches to life once more.]**

One hell of an plane ride later, I arrived in Night Vale and was greeted by the mayor's assistant. Her name was Pamela, I think. Pamela Winchell. Nice woman, if a little creepy. Don't think she likes skirts, but who does?

**[She laughs at her own joke.]**

We got along very well, even if she was a little cold at first. She says she hopes to run for mayor one day; she told me about her policies when I asked, and she seems like a great candidate. I'd vote her if I could.

After she gave me a tour of the town and showed me where I'd be staying, we went to the city hall, where I was supposed to give a speech about what I was doing there. It caught me off guard, at first, but everything went quite well.

When I finished, I stepped down from the podium to answer questions and greet the people who'd come to see me; and boy, there were a lot of them. It was like the entire town had come to see me!

Now that I think about it, a lot of those people looked kinda... weird. Like they were wearing the wrong skin and learned how to walk and talk for bad sitcoms. At the time, I didn't think anything of it, but I'll keep a look out on whether or not I notice it again. It might mean something.

After mostly everyone had left, there was this one man who approached me. He had to be at least six feet tall, I think; poor guy had to bend over to fit through the doors. He had gangly limbs and a strange tint to his dark skin, but it might have been the light. His hair was gelled back like he worked in an office, showing off the grey of his temples, and his almost constant smile made you feel warm inside, like there was nothing to be scared of...

**[Bethany's voice becomes distant, as though caught up in a day dream.]**

He said his name was Leonard Burton, the local radio host. Then he looked me in the eye, and smiled, and I fell in love.

**[END OF RECORDING]**


End file.
